The MGC returns? C8
At the very end of the working day, with dusk beginning to fall over the city, Davinia Bellamy set about the last chores involved in closing her shop . She transferred the day's cash receipts to the safe, and logged the final tally in the ledger. She ensured those delicate plants that needed a last overnight feed or water were tended to. She locked the back door and performed a security check around any windows that might tempt a passing Thief. She frowned at the skylight over the stairwell, that offered access from the roof, which had always been a security hazard – Peter, with his unique trade skills, had pointed this out to her.
She shrugged, and did what she always did, moving several large ornamental cacti underneath the skylight, where they would be sure to catch the first morning sun, for their benefit.
And, with the Apache Hospitality Cactus (1) directly underneath, together with a judicious selection of lesser thorny and spiky plants, Davinia now had no fear of thieves dropping in through the skylight. Indeed, other similar plants were displayed, with seeming innocence, just where they could catch the maximum light through each window.
She smiled, and went to activate the rest of her security system. Several months ago, an unlicenced thief had actually got into the shop: she had discovered his body the following morning, and had diligently and carefully checked it for the ID that Watchmen, Licenced Thieves, and Assassins were required, by strict City law, to carry. Discovering none, she had reasoned that reporting the death to the Watch would bring unwelcome attention to her premises and activities. Surprised that she could think so calmly and handle a dead man on her shop floor so clinically, she had set about disposing of the corpse. This meant her carnivorous plants ate well for a few weeks, which was a great saving on the food bill.
Humming to herself, she got the hand-truck out and moved several large, heavy, somethings across the shop, from their daytime location in the special store-room. Davinia was in her middle thirties and her waist was slightly thickened by motherhood; but the constant work in the gardens and greenhouses, combined with doing her own heavy lifting in the shop and elsewhere, had kept her generally physically fit. Therefore she was breathing hardly more heavily whilst hoisting and lifting and moving the security system into place. Finally, satisfied with her work, she got her hat, coat and bag and left for home, locking up on the way out.
________________________________-----
"Of course, you'll see it for yourself when the first of your girls has gone all the way through the system and graduated with the full Black." he said, pouring more wine. "There is nothing more satisfying than seeing 'em qualify, Joan! It leaves you with a nice warm glow and a feeling that some of them have got the idea, at least. And just now and then, there's a golden year where you get a cluster of quite brilliant, outstanding, students."
Grunworth Nivor sighed, reflectively.
"The year Viper House had young Arthur Ludorum, Chidder, and Teppic. Never known a class like it, before or since!" (2)
"Teppic. That was the boy from Djelibeybi, I believe?" said Joan. "The chap who did that absolutely remarkable inhumation.? Totally unbelievable. You would think somebody had made it all up, until you look at the evidence!"
"Three thousand past monarchs. And a pantheon of Gods. All at once. Now THAT is Assassination!"
Joan and Nivor paused, glasses raised, in silent commemoration of one of the Guild's greatest inhumations.
"Of course, he retired from the active profession immediately afterwards." Nivor said. "You can see his point, after all. What the lad pulled off in Djelibeybi was a hard act to follow!"
"What's he doing now?" Joan inquired.
"Teamed up with young Chidder, I believe. Mercantile Venturing . Or as Chidder described it, Stealth Import-Export."
"Ah. The sort that sidesteps Customs." Joan mused.
"Indeed" said Nivor, and smiled. Despite herself, Joan was drawn to that smile, which on a younger, thinner, man, might once have promised adventure and excitement and I am a thoroughly bad boy who is dangerous to know. On a comfortably plump grey-haired man approaching sixty, it had necessarily settled down to I might have a surprise or two left over, for the right woman. It made him a thoroughly congenial dinner partner, especially as he was an old-school gentleman who wouldn't dream of going Kerrigian on the bill. In Nivor's world, the gentleman paid for the lady, always. And he had a wealth of entertaining tales about the Guild and the School, going back nearly fifty years.
"You never married, Grune?" she asked.
"Never felt the need to, m'dear." he said. "Which isn't to say there haven't been, y'know, candidates. And you?"
Joan sighed. It always came back to Harold, even thirty years on, the feeling that his ghost was standing just behind her and the slight but niggling guilt that any involvement with other men was an act of infidelity to his memory. She knew it was stupid – he wasn't going to come back (or if he had, reincarnation, as she understood it, meant that he was hardly likely to come chasing after a woman who would necessarily be up to fifty years older. And besides, Harold might now be a woman in Agatea or somewhere equally remote. He'd be somebody else, in fact. That was the whole point of reincarnation, after all.)
Joan had thought about these things. Her Harold had been kind and generous and understanding. If his ghost had ever visited her, he was more likely to be begging her to go and find somebody else before it got to be too late. If he were here now, he'd be whispering in her ear Look Joan. This is a nice decent old buffer. He's lived a life. Sown several fields of wild oats. He's looking retirement in the face, and like the other one who's after you, he's frightened of living a long lonely retirement in one of those tied cottages the Guild allocates to faithful servants in retirement. Followed by a quiet unremarked death where only a handful of old associates turn up to the funeral out of duty rather than love, and whoever is Guild Master on the day preaches a fill-in-the-blanks rote eulogy. And if you're honest, you know you'll be feeling the same way sooner than you think. What's wrong with a little companionship in the autumn of life?
And at the end of a particularly palatable Brindisian meal in a little place Grune knew, just off the Pelicool Steps, she felt nothing at all was wrong with a little companionship in the late summer, if you please, Harold, of her life. And knowing she wasn't entirely past it, in the eyes of two men who each had something to offer, was good for her morale.
She left the part of her mind where Harold was forever the young cavalry officer in his middle twenties who'd ridden off, under the command of the old Lord Rust, to a battle from which he had never returned. Nivor had ordered more sparkling wine.
"Don't overdo it, Grune!" she quietly warned him. "We still have the other little thing to do tonight. We'll need a clear head for that, won't we?"
"Ah, our little adventure!" he replied. "I'm quite looking forward to it! Chance to use me old craft skills and see if what I teach 'em is still up to date. A practical refresher!"
And I have every confidence in you, Joan thought. Provided you're sober!
__________________________-----
Davinia Bellamy had an uneventful walk home. In the Ankh-Morpork throng, she was an unremarkable woman, one the eye of an observer passes over and instantly forgets. She was mousy blonde, and had the ruddy cheeks of a woman who spends a lot of time out of doors. The Disc did have its patron Goddesses of agricultural fertility and earthly fecundity: in the Dunmanifestin scheme of things, they were ever fated to be one of two types. On the one hand, there were the big brisk no-nonsense Disc-Mother types with burly arms, broad hips, and large feet. Then there were the mousy, sensible ones with ruddy cheeks and slightly dowdy serviceable clothes, where old comfortable skirts and thick boots featured large in the scheme of things. The Summer Lady was only ever the custodian of the Cornucopia: very few people ever stopped to ask which Goddesses ran the service industries that kept it flowing.
Thus, the agricultural goddesses were unfavoured twice over: as with other forms of PR, the iconogenic Summer Lady took credit for her homelier sisters' background work in getting the damn stuff to grow. And next to more alluring deities such as Petunia (Goddess of Negotiable Affection) Astoria (Goddess of Love) and Urika (Goddess of Going Bare-Ass Nekkid In The Sauna), not many Discly sculptors lavished a great deal of time and attention to their statues.
Frigger, the Hublandish Goddess of Fertility, summed up the quiet frustrations of her divine sisters around the Disc at not being able to get a word in edgeways with all these bleedin' useless bimbos around. Give Astoria a trowel and a job of real work to do and she'd pack it in inside fifteen minutes, lazy cow… (3)
Davinia was one of the latter class of Disc-Mothers: the quiet, thoughtful ones who brought science into the art of growing green things. As with all Disc-mothers, she had a gift and a talent for making things grow that verged on the mystical complaint of ped fecundis. She felt completely at home in her life: she loved her husband, who she suspected still saw a beauty in her that had only just applied fifteen years before and certainly didn't apply to her now. She adored her sons; and she loved her job. But…. deadheading… was getting to be so, so, addictive. She was starting to get worried.
Arriving home, she kissed Peter warmly, her wife-senses noting that he seemed worried about something. She hugged and kissed the boys and they ate together, sharing the daily stories of prison, florists' shop and schools. Later in the evening the boys went up to bed. Davinia and Peter were then alone downstairs.
"You're frowning, Peter. Is there anything wrong?" she asked.
He looked at her and his eyes showed sorrow, worry and concern.
"Vinnie. We've got to talk. I know you've never ever told me a lie before…"
Her heart dropped. Of all the people who could have worked it out. Peter. She'd been hoping to spare him this. Well, perhaps it was for the best. Maybe together they could work out a solution.
She took a deep breath.
"You're right. I've never told you a lie. And I'm not going to start now."
"Go on." he prompted her. He took her hands, accepting her, and gave her his steadiest look.
"It all began eight or nine months ago. You remember Mrs Attwood, who ran a street flower barrow for me? Well, she came in to load one morning and she had really bad bruises. She'd come into work before with cuts and bruises…"
And before she knew it, she'd told her husband everything.
"I see." he said, afterwards. It wasn't much, but it was all he was able to manage. My wife, the serial killer.
"I was just so angry, Peter! Why should men like this feel they can get away with it? I wasn't asking for money, but Mrs Attwood gave me five hundred by way of thanks. And it was flattering when the Tanty Bugle picked up on some of the deadheading I've done, and got all tabloid about the Marriage Guidance Counsellor coming back from the grave. I read about the original and I realised she did exactly the same as me for exactly the same reasons."
"Yes, but she got caught!" Peter objected. "And so will you be!"
Davinia hung her head.
"Look" he said. "I'll help cover up the killing you did at the prison. And that is asking a lot of me, Vinnie! A lot. It's the first time in my career I'll have behaved in a corrupt and criminal way. And Gods, I hope it's the only one! But in return, you've got to promise me you'll stop. No more! I don't think the Watch have enough clues to lead back to you yet, and if you're wise, you won't give them any. But it stops here!"
"I understand, Peter" she whispered, and they hugged furiously. Davinia realised with a flood of hurt that her husband was weeping.
But it's so addictive. she told herself.
___________________________----
"And that was the problem, Grune. I just couldn't stop!" Joan explained, as they walked down Pelicool Steps with their arms linked, an old married couple on a night out.
"At first it was a favour, a service to women who were having a hard time. Then I really got to like it. You know the kids have their own vocabulary? Everything is cool if they like what they're doing."
"Or if it's got style". Agreed Grune. "Changes with every new first year, and damn' hard to keep up with!"
"You hear them talking about something having a buzz and a charge? When it gets the blood flowing and the adrenaline pumping? Well, that's how I felt about the sterilizations I did when I was the Marriage Guidance Counsellor. The planning, the execution, the act, of inhuming some worthless slimy toad of a man. It was one great big buzz, Grune! "
"You got addicted, Joan!" her escort commented, wryly.
"I know. I just couldn't stop. I kept on going, even though I knew the Watch and the Guild were hunting me down. The addiction, the thrill of the game, y'see. I'm betting that if our Davinia Bellamy is the woman we're after, she'll be hooked on the buzz as well, like a troll on Slab. She'll find it impossible to stop herself, even though if she stops now, there's no really hard evidence and we'll never be able to bring charges that stick. That's the sensible thing to do. But if I couldn't find the strength to do the sensible thing and stop, she won't either."
"And then we bag her. Reckon Downey will make her the offer?"
"He's almost bound to. He's running another Mature Students Class as soon as he gets the numbers together. The big question is whether we get her first, of course. The Watch have been really co-operative, but when we get into the final straight, Vimes is going to want his people to nab her first. Which almost certainly means the Tanty, and a short exposure to Mr Trooper's irritating jollyness. After which, death must come as a blessed relief!"
"Unless Vetinari takes a personal interest. As he did with you, Joan!"
Joan remembered. Her arrest, and being led under guard into the Master's office. Where Downey had not been sitting behind the Master's desk, but to one side of it, flanked by very senior Assassins. On the other side had been Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, backed up by senior Watch officers. And the man who was sitting behind the master's desk, with steepled fingers and a look of mild curiosity on his face, had been Lord Vetinari, who had deftly adjudicated on a little matter of demarcation between the City Watch and the Assassins' Guild. He had resolved it by asking Joan to choose whether the City or the Guild should execute her for mass murder, as both undeniably had a pressing case. Joan, preferring a quick clean death in private, had opted for the Guild. Then Vetinari had nodded, approved of her choice that the Guild had priority over the Watch, and offered her an angel….
Will Davinia Bellamy get an Angel? she wondered. No doubt if I'd chosen the City, that devious bugger would have found a way to fake my death on the gallows, and send me to the Guild for a year of "pass-it-or-die-trying" Assassin training. Rumour has it that's how he bagged Lipwig.
Pelicool Steps was a surprisingly pleasant waterfront vista overlooking the Ankh just Hubwards of the docks. Formerly a landing step for smaller boats, it was now a parade of upmarket shops, stores and eating houses serving the socially upmarket Ankh side of the city. It was no great walk from the Brindisian restaurant, past Grace Speaker's pet store, to Bellamy's florists, where a notice in the window advised a flower-arranging consultancy and home delivery service was available for all your floral needs: weddings, funerals, appearances before the Law Courts,(4) formal dinners and receptions, and religious rites of passage, all faiths catered to. Another notice discreetly said Tropical plants of all kinds catered for. We can source and price that rarity you are looking for. Or why not come in and look at what's new? There's always something new out of Howondaland! (5)
"I'll bet there is" Joan muttered.
Grunworth Nivor, meanwhile, was studying the door, stroking his chin, and assessing the situation.
"Three deadlocks. One top. One middle, one bottom" he said. "may be reinforced with bolts, too, but that depends on whether the staff use the front of back entrance as their way in. Hard to bolt a door on the inside after you've locked it from the outside!"
".No sign of any technomantic alarms. Just bear with me a second, Joan m'dear!"
Nivor walked carefully around the front of the door, stamping on the flags, listening for the hollow sound that suggested a tilting slab ands a pit underneath, which would open and pitch an unfortunate intruder into the Undercity if the correct procedure were not followed for unlocking the door. Joan nodded: such a trap had killed one of her fellow trainees in their final test. He'd picked the lock successfully, but had been standing too near to the door and directly in front as it swung open. A reciprocating mechanism had pitched him vertically downwards into an Emergency Drop which, in the event, he had failed.
Nivor, misreading her smile, allowed himself to be distracted. Allowing a different sort of passion to take over, he swept Joan into his arms and said
"Such a beautiful night for a walk by the river, don't you think? And with an attractive woman!"
"Grunworth Nivor!" she said, failing completely to look stern. "You do choose your moments, don't you?"
Torn between Look, pay attention to the job, please! and Well, perhaps one little kiss won't do any harm… the decision was made for her by a slight swish! in the air, followed by a gentle scuffing noise. People other than Assassins might not have paid attention to it, but Joan and Grune broke apart and took up defensive positions, reaching for handy weapons.
"Oh. It's you." Joan said, re-sheathing the throwing knife. Grune exhaled and relaxed.
The black shape in front of them nodded, and resolved itself into a night-clad Assassin.
"I really hope I've not disturbed a Moment". said Alice Band. "But before the two of you do anything you'll end up regretting in the morning, can I advise you I have thirty advanced students up there doing a night edificeering class? I have warned them that if any of them snigger audibly, it's an automatic Fail mark, but they're all up there watching you."
On cue, a muted giggle, suddenly cut off, drifted down to them. Alice looked up and glared.
"Donnington Major of Four Ragineau's, I suspect." she said. "So this is the shop?"
Nivor, the professional Assassin, explained the situation. Alice nodded.
"I'll take a couple of the best students and scout the rear entrance for you. You two carry on pretending to be out-of-practice lovers who've drunk too much. You're doing a grand job of it, I must say! Won't be long!"
Alice flowed back up the side of the building. The two older Assassins fancied that they saw dark shapes detach themselves and move against the cloud cover, far above. Grune and Joan slumped into a recessed doorway and waited in the shadow. Rebelliously, they clasped hands.
A dark shadow passed across the doorway.
"We are here" Grune whispered.
"Please sir, ma'am. Miss Band sent me to say there's a back door which only seems to have one visible lock on it, and no obvious technomancy. But she believes it's guarded. Something sentient, but not human."
"Any alternative ways?" Joan asked, briefly.
"There's a skylight, ma'am, but Miss Band advises you strongly against using it as you'll drop on to something sharp. She couldn't see more than that with the night light. She believes somebody is going to great lengths to keep intruders out."
"Thank you, er? "
"Donnington Minor, ma'am. Ragineau's House".
The young Assassin disappeared. Grune and Joan looked at each other.
"Back to the front door, then, m'dear!" he said. They returned, and contemplated the front door. The sound of tramping boots and jingling armour came to them, and they retreated into the dark again.
It was a Watch patrol. One was recognisable as the slouching, defeated figure of Corporal Nobby Nobbs: the other, Joan noted, was that damn smart vampire, Sally. Who cheerfully looked straight at Joan and Grune and said
"Hi, Joan. You must be Darby….sorry! Mr Nivor? Angua sent us to ask if you're done yet."
"We haven't even started yet." Grune sighed. "It's damn well defended!"
Nobby barged forwards.
"'Ere, sir. These old locks are dead easy! I could walk in with my eyes closed!"
A set of lock-picks appeared from nowhere, and Nobby enthusiastically set to. He was just about to swing the door open when Grune restrained him.
"Full marks for speed, Mr Nobbs" he said, wiping his hand on his jacket. "Zero for caution. You simply do not know what is on the other side of this door."
"It's just flowers, sir" Nobby said.
"We will see" Grune said, assembling a mirror on a stick. Meanwhile, Sally said, urgently,
"I'm reading two. There's a sort of sentience there but it's dull, sluggish. Definitely not human. One living creature each side of the door."
Grune was manoeuvring the mirror through the letterbox and swinging it to try to see what was in the shop. Thern her grunted, and tugged the stick. Something tugged back.
"Hmm. Must have got it caught."
He tugged again, two-handedly, The whole of the stick emerged from the letterbox, but distorted and twisted. A thick sturdy creeper was wrapped around it, at least an inch thick with wicked-looking hooks and suckers. It would not let go.
Nobby drew his sword.
"No." Joan said, firmly. We can't leave a trace that we've been here. If we go chopping her plants up, she'll know. Some other way."
"Nobby, blow cigarette smoke over it!" Sally urged. "That works on wasps and bees!"
Nobby took the ever-present dimp from behind his ear and fumbled for a match. Grune, meanwhile, had pulled a good six feet worth of creeper through the letterbox that still refused to surrender the mirror.
"Take a picture, Joan! See if we can get this identified!"
Joan fumbled in her bag for the night iconograph, and lined up a shot. It was rather obscured by Nobbs blowing clouds of smoke over the creeper, to no perceptible effect, but the effect on the vine was electric. All six feet stood stiff and straight and it let go of the mirror. Then it retreated inside the shop, slamming the letterbox closed behind it.
Joan and Sally looked at each other.
"It must have been the camera. Maybe those things see in the infrared. When I triggered the night-flash, we were unharmed but it overloaded its reception cells. We blinded it!"
"That's what I sensed inside. No wonder it didn't register as human or animal. It's plant intelligence!" Sally breathed.
"And you'd have walked straight in, Mr Nobbs" Grune observed. "Over-confidence!"
"So what now?
"There's another way" Sally said. But I'll need your help, Joan. Can you hold your cloak up, wide as you can spread it, and if these two gentlemen look the other way? Thanks…"
Joan heard the gentle thumps of a Watchwoman's suddenly vacated uniform hitting the ground. Then a cloud of bats billowed up from behind her cloak. The larger part of the cloud spiralled upwards and held station at rooftop level. Six or seven, however, zoomed in for the letterbox. Understanding, Grune gingerly held it open as the bats zipped through at high speed. No sounds were heard from inside the shop for some time. Joan began to worry slightly.
Then the cloud of bats zoomed down again. Joan held the cloak wide as they coalesced into a naked Sally, who scrabbled for her uniform.
"Nobby, lock that door over!" she shouted. "The rest of you, look innocent! Trouble's coming!"
Joan leapt to assist Sally with doing up her breastplate as a coach rounded the corner at some speed. It stopped at Bellamy's. And the two people who got out, looking disgruntled, were Lord Downey and Commander Vimes. Vimes was in ceremonial uniform, Downey in his finest. From the smell of port and cigars, Joan deduced they'd been dragged from an otherwise acceptable civic function somewhere.
Vimes took a drag of his cigar. After a well-judged silence, he said
"The Patrician just now asked me what I proposed to do about Watch personnel thought to be making an illegal search in a florists' shop on Pelicool Steps. I'm really glad to see my patrol is outside the premises, no doubt having found good reason to speak to two Assassins located in the vicinity."
"The Patrician also asked me if I'd sanctioned a surveillance operation in Pelicool Steps." Downey added. "When I said that I knoew of none, he advised me to come out and take a look, as a florists' shop here appears to have attracted the attention of an extraordinary number of Assassins tonight. I have no doubt that Miss Band and her class were on the outside of the building perfectly legitimately. But, Mr Nivor?"
"Walking the lady home after a very satisfactory dinner, Master!" he replied, unhesitatingly. "I can well recommend Bocca di Sciocco, just down the Steps here!"
Downey nodded.
"Just don't give in to temptation, please." he said. "I can perfectly assure you that Mr Boggis is at his most aggravating whenever he speaks to me from a position of superiority, because he has a genuine grievance. I'm relying on you not to give him one. That is all, and I will see you both in the morning." He turned, and got back into the coach without looking back.
"How did Vetinari find out?" Sally asked, baffled.
Vimes grinned, mercilessly.
"Well, never assume the gargoyles around any potential crime scene are always going to be ours, Constable von Humpeding.. They're not Assassins' Guild employees, either."
Vimes paused to let the implications sink in.
"And by the way, you only have three fingers on your left hand, I'd get it back up to five as soon as I could."
Vimes nodded, and went back to the coach. Soon, it drove off.
Gingerly, Nobby propped the letterbox at Bellamy's open again. One after the other, several bats zoomed out and reunited with her left arm. After a succession of actinic flashes, Sally counted her fingers and flexed. Yup, five. Back to normal.
She closed her eyes, as if listening to an inner report.
"There are large, very large, carnivorous plants on either side of the door which stand taller than a man.. The moment any intruder steps inside, they're programmed to grab and kill. Their pots stand on wheeled trollies, so they can be wheeled around the shop as needed. She keeps them hungry so they'll be sharp on their guard duties. The back door is similarly guarded. Oh, and anyone dropping in through the skylight drops right on top of a killer cactus with razor-sharp hooks and barbs.
"There are locked doors inside that I can't penetrate, even as a bat. At least one person has died in there during the last year. This Mrs Bellamy has got something to hide, alright!"
Joan and Grune went home in silence. The attempt to break into Bellamy's having failed, they'd have to come up with a new strategy. But how?
(1) Found in the desert country of the Eastern Howondaland Central Plain just south of Klatch. Man-tall and with unyielding natural spines, hooks and barbs up to six inches long and of razor-sharpness, this plant has been traditionally used by Red Indians for amusement and entertainment, (in the perfect holistic balance with their natural environment for which they are justly famous). The Apaches are particularly proud of this part of their natural environment, and cannot resist showing it off to captives.
(2) See Pyramids.
(3) But as less favoured, quiet, sensible, hard-working girls with their feet on the ground the Disc over have always said, albeit unheeded and from someway behind the admiring throng surrounding their prettier friends, "Ain't that the way it is!" Ref. Glenda Sugarbean to Juliet Collop, or Agnes Nitt to Christine, or perhaps a younger Esme Weatherwax about a younger Gytha Ogg…
(4) This was Ankh-Morpork, after all, and Davinia knew her market.
(5) On Roundworld, the Roman philosopher Pliny looked south into the dark unexplored continent, on which the Romans only had the northern shore, and reflected Ex Africa, simper aliquid nova - There's always something new out of Africa.